


This is the Perfect Time to Panic

by Brokenpitchpipe, emij1s



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It, Infinity War spoilers, M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), feat. the Infinity Stones as the waspish high-society gossips of the universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 08:28:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14516373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brokenpitchpipe/pseuds/Brokenpitchpipe, https://archiveofourown.org/users/emij1s/pseuds/emij1s
Summary: James,the golden voice says.We can’t tell you where you are. But we can tell you that you’re dead.Fuck his entire life. Except he doesn’t have a life to fuck anymore, apparently. So he can’t really do himself any harm by back-talking the Infinity Stones, can he?“No shit,” he says.or: Finding the infinity stones and restoring half the universe is the boring part. The fun part comes next.





	This is the Perfect Time to Panic

**Author's Note:**

> (alt. title: **To Infinity and Beyond** )

_“Steve?”_

That’s the last thing Steve hears before Bucky's hand disappears- and then his shoulder, his legs, his chest. He looks at the ash blowing away from the trees, carrying what was once his body to god knows where, and then he looks at Steve, and then-

And then he’s gone.

\---

There was no judgement behind any of it. A simple fifty-fifty chance. In Thanos’s eyes, those were fair odds, but they’re not for Steve.

Was it fair of Thanos to take T’Challa, who’d saved his country through love, communication, and the desire for peace? Was it fair of him to take Sam, who had saved Steve and so many others countless times? Was it fair of him to take Peter, so young and so hopeful?

Bucky hadn’t even wanted to fight.

Steve had seen it in his eyes, tired and resigned. He’d seen the awkward slump to his shoulders. Bucky hadn’t been used to the weight; he’d been living on the farm land unburdened by metal and guns and war. And now?

Now, he’s gone. And no, Steve thinks. None of it had been fair.

 _Fair_ would be taking away the people who had deserved to be taken.

But then again, who is Steve to judge them?

* * *

Wanda and the magician are both gone, as is Vision, and so their best hopes for magical-glowing-stone knowledge are Thor and Bruce. Bruce had studied the stone embedded in Loki’s spear extensively, and Thor had grown up with the thing. They’re down a lot of manpower, but that’s not going to stop them.

It’s never stopped Steve, anyway.

He does what he’s always done best, he pushes himself back on his feet and leads the fight, and every time he closes his eyes he hears _Steve?_ And so he keeps them open, he keeps himself in motion, because he knows that if he stops for a second he will fall apart, and they can’t afford that now.

He’s _angry._

He has to be angry, or he won’t survive. If he stops for a moment, examines his emotions beyond that top layer, he’ll crumble and fail and he cannot fail, not anymore. The people he loves- what’s left of them- are counting on Steve Rogers.

And so he works. He’s violent, he’s ruthless, he works harder than all of them because he has to. They have to find a solution, they have to kill Thanos, they have to.

(But in the back of his mind he knows that he’s only doing this because the others want him to, that if he had the chance he’d close his eyes and lie down and never wake up.)

\---

“We just need the Time stone,” Thor says firmly. “If we find the Time stone, I can go back, and this time I’ll aim for the head.”

“We don’t know anything about the Time stone,” Bruce points out, “and the only person who did is gone.” He looks around the room worriedly. “I can take you to his house? He’s got a lot of books.”

“Which will all be useless,” Tony cuts in, “if we can’t read them, and we have no way of finding anyone who can.”

“The Time stone is our best chance,” Thor says firmly, with a set to his jaw that Steve understands.

Steve’s not sure what kind of love Thor and Loki had had, and he doesn’t make a point to judge it. But he knows that Thor understands what this kind of loss feels like. For Thor, it’s his mother and his father, his sister and his brother, his friends and his people.

For Steve, it’s Bucky.

Neither of them can numb the pain, they’re built to sustain it. And so they train together, trying to cope, and Steve embraces every hit- he wants it, he wants to feel something other than the tug in his chest that’s part guilt, part grief, part fury. He wants it to fucking hurt, he wants to burn and bruise and bleed.

They fuck once, and it’s awful.

Under different coping circumstances it might have offered relief, but not now. Not when Steve feels this hollow inside. Not now, when Steve doesn’t even know if this is a fool’s errand or not. He doesn’t know if finding the stones will be worth it, or if he’s just wasting his time and he’d be better off dead. He’s not coping, he’s just killing time between the last battle that killed the love of his life, and the next battle that might kill everyone else- that might kill him.

Please, God, let it kill him.

Thor’s guilt is palpable. Steve knows his story, he knows Thor was their king and by failing his people and his brother, he’d lost both. Thor tries to help Steve, but it’s clearly not natural to him to be in bed for any reason other than celebration, and then Steve’s gut clenches as he hears that voice in his head again, out of nowhere-

_Steve?_

Steve’s gone by the time the sun rises, and they never talk about it.

\---

The team, what’s left of it, elects Steve to wield the gauntlet. It makes the most sense for him to be the one to wield it, they tell him. He’s a Captain, a leader. He has the strongest moral compass out of all of them. He hadn’t been given his powers by chance, by force, or by fate. He’d earned them fairly, and so he’ll wield the gauntlet fairly.

But he’s selfishly glad they’ve chosen him. He doesn’t truly have the strongest morals, not by a long shot- he knows why he’s fighting, and it’s certainly not for the greater good. But Bucky is as virtuous a cause as the universe is, so he doesn’t bring it up.

The time for arguments is over by now. It takes months- it might even be years, Steve loses count- but the exhaustion never wears off. The loss is still fresh every single day, for every name that falls from their ranks.

Steve’s beginning to think he’s not the only one wishing that the occasional chunk of debris or the frequent slash of a blade would hit their mark, by the time they bully the cosmos into giving them a way to track down the empty gauntlet and the exhausted stones.

The Time stone is, surprisingly, the first one to show up. It nearly costs them the gauntlet in the process, but somehow they manage to secure it in the divot by the gauntlet’s forefinger. The moment Steve feels it settle into the glove, he knows it won’t work.

Well, the gem will work, but time alone won’t be enough to reverse the sheer mass of destruction that Thanos had strewn. Steve can feel it, he can feel the stone, the gem, warning him. It glows softly in its setting, like it’s breathing. Waiting.

And Steve knows they’re nowhere near the end.

They lose Rhodey, but they gain four more stones. The only thing that keeps them going is the knowledge that somehow, if this works, they can change history.

And then they get to the soul stone, and Steve wonders why anyone ever thought he should bear the gauntlet.

There’s a familiar face- a familiar _red_ face-  waiting for him, and his blood runs cold. And now Steve wonders if anything he’s ever done matters, when one of the only accomplishments from the war he’d been proud of, killing this son of a bitch, had never been real.

Things happen much too fast.

Natasha seems to think that she can get the stone on her own, tries to slide past Red Skull with a knife in her hand, and Bruce can see the strike waiting for her before she spots it. He shoves her to the side and she crashes to the ground.

He follows, blood dripping from his mouth and eyes frozen open, and maybe if Natasha had been the one to wield the gauntlet it would be enough, but of course it isn’t.

They move forward, follow the rules, and something builds in Steve’s stomach, equal parts dread and surety. He knows what he has to do, and there’s not a soul left on earth, on this planet, in the universe, that can stop him. He looks over at his team, his friends, the last ones left.

There’s no discussion. There’s no moral questioning. Steve hesitates for a single second, and that’s all he needs to decide.

Tony doesn’t even get a chance to offer to sacrifice himself for the greater good, to tell Steve the people he wished he’d told goodbye. Steve’s made the decision for him. He does love Tony, he does. He doesn’t want to do this. But.

Wanda’s face flashes in front of his eyes. Wanda, and T’Challa, and Sam, and Peter, and-

And Bucky.

He reaches, he touches Tony's shoulder, he squeezes it - and then he pushes him right over the edge.

He looks away, just like he'd looked away when Bucky fell. Because if he couldn't bear to look at Bucky, then Tony sure as hell shouldn't get the damn luxury.

And it's enough- it's enough, and he gets the stone and it weighs so much in his palm and he has the gauntlet now. He has the fucking gauntlet. His hand fits inside it somehow, like it was made for him to hold, and he can feel all six of the gems inside pulsing, waiting. They’re tired, somehow he knows that. He feels the weight of half a universe lying in these stones and his heart reaches out to them- like they understand him. Like they, too, want to close their eyes and never open them again.

None of them are sure how the gauntlet actually works. Thor tells him the best he can, to envision what it is he wants, and it will come. They draw up a list for him to memorize, orders for the stones.

And Steve brushes his fingers over the gems, watches them glow faintly with the touch, and he knows he can’t order them to do a damn thing. So he closes his eyes, tries to envision what Natasha and Thor and Okoye and Nebula had told him.

 _Please,_ he thinks, fist involuntarily clenching, thinking of everyone turning to dust and floating away in the goddamn wind, _just bring everyone back. All of them. Please._

And again, he hesitates. Because he’s the one wielding this fucking gauntlet, and he’s a goddamn human. And he thinks, _please._

_Please let him be okay._

_Please let him be okay._

And he snaps his fingers.

* * *

 _Heya,_ says a voice.

Only that’s not entirely correct; there’s no voice, not exactly. Bucky can’t hear anyone, can’t make out a male or female voice- or any other identity of voice, as Steve had told him patiently the other… day? Month? Year?

It’s more like a general feeling of _heya_ than the actual words.

“Um,” Bucky says. The words don’t come out, but somehow he knows that they’ve been understood. Come to think of it, he doesn’t. Have a mouth.

He can’t see. He can’t feel anything. He isn’t actually here, wherever the hell ‘here’ is- and- and how had he gotten here in the first place? Where is ‘here’, and- why-

 _Calm,_ another voice says, rumbling low and purple. It’s powerful enough to make Bucky shiver- or accept the feeling of shivering without the physical act, because he doesn’t have a body, apparently.

“Where am I?” he demands.

 _You’re not,_ says a third voice, red and grounded.

Well, Bucky thinks, isn’t that just grand. “How,” he says slowly, “how did I get here?”

 _You’re our guest,_ says yet another voice, yellow and inviting. _And we need to talk to you._

“How many, uh,” Bucky starts, “how many of you are there?”

 _Guest,_ says a flat green voice, incredulously. _Who says he’s our guest?_

 _I do,_ says a final voice, golden orange, like a sunset. The other voices don’t chime in after it, they just wait patiently. _James,_ the golden voice says. _We can’t tell you where you are. But we can tell you that you’re dead._

And if Bucky’s counting correctly, this makes six, and fuck his entire life. Except he doesn’t have a life to fuck anymore, apparently. So he can’t really do himself any harm by back-talking the Infinity Stones, can he?

“No shit,” he says.

* * *

There’s a difference between Steve and Thanos.

There are several differences between Steve and Thanos, but the one that stands out from the rest is that while Thanos had commanded the stones, Steve’s just asked them for a favor. They’re not here to do his bidding, they exist on their own terms. Steve’s just made a request, that’s all, and they’ve happened to grant it.

And just like that, he’s back. It’s like waking up- it’s like coming to after being knocked unconscious- he’s slowly aware of the fact that he’s standing, he’s wearing clothes, there’s a light breeze on his face, something heavy on his palm. Steve flutters his eyes open, and nothing’s changed.

And for a split second, he’s sure they’d failed. So, it seems, is everyone else. Natasha’s eyes fall groundward, Okoye clutches her spear with a grip so tight it begins to shake, and Steve’s breath dies in his chest before it can reach his throat. They’re standing here, on the cliffside, and nothing’s changed.

“What do we do now?” Thor asks quietly, watching the gauntlet as it rises and falls with Steve’s breath.

“I don’t know,” Steve admits.

“The Time stone,” Thor starts, but Steve holds up a hand to stop him.

“-won’t be enough,” he finishes for Thor. “One stone can’t overpower something the six of them have all done together.”

“-would bring Stark back,” Thor corrects, nodding to the cliffside.

That makes Natasha look up. “But then,” she says. “We’d lose the Soul stone, wouldn’t we?”

Steve looks at the golden gem on the back of the gauntlet, sees it pulse with energy, with life. It’s capable of so much, and the price had been nearly too much to bear, but if it couldn’t bring Bucky back- if it can’t bring them all back, then it’s not worth it. He closes the fingers into a fist and takes a breath.

And a rush of air, and-

_“- get back, Nat!”_

Someone stumbles over their own feet and topples to the ground with a grunt, then scrabbles back up to stand.

“Bruce,” Natasha breathes, taking a step forward.

“I-” Bruce looks around at them all, at Natasha and Okoye and Steve and Thor, and he swallows heavily. “Where’s Tony?”

Steve looks at the gauntlet. Bruce looks at it too, and nods.

“So it did work,” Thor says, looking at Bruce. “He’s back. Right where he left.”

And the Space stone sings in Steve’s palm, and he clenches his fist and they’re off.

* * *

 _We’ve made a deal,_ says the Soul stone. _Our wielder has asked us to return those who were lost, with special conditions for you._

“Fantastic,” Bucky says. “Let me guess. Stark wants me to come back as a three-legged weiner dog.”

 _If that’s what you want,_ the Time stone says.

 _Hush,_ says the Mind stone.

 _You hush,_ the Time stone snaps.

 _Both of you hush, we’re wasting time,_ the Space stone cuts in.

 _Oh,_ the Time stone says, _oh, are we?_

“What’s the condition?” Bucky asks. The Soul stone sends a rush of warmth towards him, it’s not a sentence or a word, just a feeling of happiness. Security. A sense of everything being whole, upright, in order. Safe.

 _He wants you to be like that,_ says the Soul stone, and Bucky knows who’s wielding the gauntlet.

* * *

They reach the Wakandan forest in the blink of an eye, and Steve barely takes one step before people are yelling- Wakandan soldiers reappear, one after the other, stumbling onto suddenly empty forest ground, searching around wildly for the threat that, for them, is inexplicably gone.

Sam comes tumbling out of the brush, panting and wild-eyed and frightened, and Steve barely bats an eye. He’s here, he’s _here,_ where it happened, so where is Bucky?

The field of newly-resurrected soldiers, once they catch wind of what’s happened, make their way back to the city, where an army of people rushes out to meet them. There are tears of joy, cries of grief, and so many more noises that Steve cannot hear because Bucky’s not here. And by the time the sun sets and the reports flow in of people from around the world, coming back home unharmed-

Bucky’s still gone.                   

The stones are no help. They give him nothing but silence- it’s not a cold silence, it’s a patient silence. They aren’t mad at him, but Steve doesn’t know what the lack of a response means.

Peter Quill comes back with a babbling, shaking Peter Parker in tow, and Steve knows he’s going to have to explain where Tony is because that’s his responsibility now- and he hopes that the kid will take a hint and go back home to his aunt, at least until he’s eighteen.

They rest in Wakanda, and Steve keeps the gauntlet with him and no one dares question it- not when Bucky’s still gone. That means, he reasons, that someone else could be missing. There could still be work to do. But he can’t tell them why he really wants to keep the gauntlet- because if the team knew he talked to the stones, they’d worry he’s going crazy, either with worry or with power. He doesn’t want to tell anyone he’d been selfish, that he’d asked for a favor. He can’t tell anyone why Bucky’s not back- because that has to be why Bucky’s not back, doesn’t it.

All he can do is wait, now.

When he does tell Peter about Tony, the kid sees right through him. He says it blunt, straightforward, facts first- he explains the stones’ rules, and the price they’d had to pay to bring everyone back, and Peter takes one look at him and doesn’t believe a word of it.

“That guy,” Peter says, pointing a thumb over to Star-Lord, who’s shaken and talking in hushed tones to the rest of his little team, “he didn’t care when you told him.”

“He didn’t know Tony,” Steve says gently.

“No, I know.” Peter gives an impatient wave of his hand. “But you did. And you’re fine.” Steve says nothing to that. Peter lets the moment hang, and then. “Was it worth it?” he asks.

Steve gives a small, empty smile. _We don’t trade lives_ flashes through his head, but that was before. That was before Bucky was the life. “Yes,” he says.

But Bucky doesn’t come back, and doesn’t come back, and some nights Steve wonders.

* * *

_Wrong again._

Bucky’s starting to hate Time.

“You told me to choose,” he says, irritation finally getting the better of him. “So that’s what I choose. Make me like I used to be, the old me.”

The Mind stone tuts- _That’s not right._ And the Reality stone gives a huff- after all, Bucky’s arm would have to change.

“But that’s the me that he wants,” Bucky says, “that’s the me he loved.”

The Soul stone sighs. _That’s not what he asked for,_ it says. _He didn’t ask for a you he could love. He wants you however you are- but he wants you to be okay._

The Mind stone whispers, _All you have to do is ask, I can help you._

“I don’t know,” Bucky says, “I don’t know what that is, I don’t know what that _means.”_

 _Ugh,_ the Time stone groans, _we were made to shape the cosmos, not listen to- this._

 _Hush,_ the Space stone chastises, _it’s an important decision._

 _Well, you don’t have to do any work,_ the Time stone snaps, _you just plop them all back down where they started, I’ve got to deal with the time difference- which, by the way, is getting bigger as we speak-_

Bucky shakes his head- or sends off the feeling of one shaking his head, anyway. He’s still trying to get used to simultaneously existing and not existing. “Just,” he says, “just make me someone he can love, all right?”

 _Good god,_ the Time stone says- and Bucky’s sure now that the voices are just his mind’s interpretation of the stones’ thoughts, because he doesn’t want to imagine what kind of a god they’d answer to.

* * *

There isn’t even a body to bury.

Steve remembers the exact spot, he visits it every day. Because the gems are still dormant and Bucky could still come back, any day now. He’ll come back.

Sam comes with him until he doesn’t, until he sits in silence one day too long and he stands and gives Steve a pat on the shoulders and says he has to go, they’re trying to rebuild a team and they need someone to lead, and Steve tells him the shield is his if he wants it- provided they can break it out of whatever confines inside which Tony’s been hoarding it. And so Sam leaves.

Natasha comes three times, once on a good day and twice on bad days. She’s not good at consoling, but she’s good at being a steady, silent presence. But she’s not one for sharing emotions, and she has business to do. And so she leaves Steve with a kiss on the cheek and the knowledge that if he needs her, she’ll be there, and then she’s gone.

Wanda only comes once, and Steve suspects she’s been told to. She tries to talk to him but he says nothing, and when she tries to prod at his mind she recoils and sits in silence instead, rubbing her eyes. But she does understand, Steve knows. He doesn’t want to admit that her pain is probably worse than his- being forced to kill the person she loves, watching him return to life, only to be destroyed again in front of her own eyes.

She stays in Wakanda too, and leaves him things on his bed on bad days.

But they all understand that Steve prefers being alone- or at least he tries to convince himself that he does- and so alone is how he usually comes to the forest, once a day, for a minute or for hours.

He marks the spot with a circle of stones, leaves a flower in the middle when he can find one. There’s no shortage of them in the jungle, and they’re all vibrant, red, blue, and purple. He comes every day, to swap the flowers out, if nothing else.

Sometimes he sits for hours, just talking to Bucky. Sometimes he sits in silence. And some days, he stops by long enough to set the flowers down and then he has to leave.

But this isn’t one of those days. This is a good day.

“Hey,” he says to the circle of stones, taking a seat beside it and picking up a leaf to tear. “I haven’t told you how everyone’s been. Or how the farm’s been getting on- I’m sure you’re worried about that. All the goats miss you, they always crowd around me in the morning, when I smell like your bedsheets the most.” And he gives a little smile, tearing the leaf in half. “I think I’m the only one who’s figured it out.”

Bucky says nothing. Steve tries not to be disappointed. After all, he’s talking to a circle of rocks.

“We’re all still… trying to cope,” he continues, thumbing over the freshly cut edge of the leaf, feeling the water leak out onto the pad of his finger. “Everyone’s been taking a break. Everyone from our team, I mean- Wakanda’s still got some of their guard working around the clock, both here and in their outreach programs. Me, I’ve been trying to take a break. Nat says it’s about time, and I think Sam’s just glad I’m not out in the field trying to kill myself, or anything.”

He rips the leaf again.

“I’ve been staying at your farm,” he says. “You probably got that- with the whole goat. Thing.”

The wind brushes through the trees in the absence of a laugh.

“It’s nice. I can see why you like it.”

The flower in the middle of the stones shifts an inch, buffeted by the breeze. Steve watches it, but it doesn’t escape the circle of stones. He wonders, absently, if he should write Bucky’s name on one, to mark it-

To mark it.

It’s a _grave._

The realization hits him like a punch to the chest- he’s made Bucky a goddamn grave. It’s small and simple and exactly what Bucky would have wanted, and it guts him to the fucking core and he sways on the spot, even sitting down, as the breath leaves his chest and he forgets how to balance, how to exist, how to think.

And he’s alone in the woods and he cries, and cries, and cries.

* * *

 _He’s in pain,_ the Soul stone says. _He mourns you like he mourns love and life itself. Because you mean both to him._

Bucky says nothing.

 _He gathered us to save you,_ it says. _The others, yes, he wanted them back. But it was you. He sacrificed to save you, you were why he stayed, why he helped._

 _Didn’t even hesitate,_ the Power stone adds. _He was selfish. Everyone who wants power is selfish, I know what it looks like. He looked like that._

“I don’t know what he wants me to do,” Bucky says. “I don’t know who he wants me to be. Everything I tell you to make me is wrong, whatever I say- I just need more-”

 _If you say ‘time,’_ the Time stone says, _I will send you five thousand years into the future._

“So put me back,” Bucky snaps, “change me into what he wants and put me back.”

 _That’s not how it works,_ the Reality stone reminds him, as if he needs to be reminded of the stupid rules they’ve been telling him for god knows how fucking long now.

 _He sacrificed for you,_ the Mind gem tells him gently. _He killed for you. And he’s fading the longer he’s alone._

 _He is,_ the Space gem agrees. _Soon he won’t even be here anymore, he won’t take up any space at all. He’s going to get smaller and smaller until he disappears._

 _Oh,_ the Time gem butts in, _stop being dramatic, he’s just gonna die._

 _Time,_ the Mind gem says reprovingly, _don’t be cruel._

 _Yes, that’s unnecessary,_ the Reality gem agrees. _Time’s right, though,_ it adds, to Bucky. _He will die._

* * *

They hold a service for Tony two months after bringing everyone back. It’s large, flashy, and full of long, tearful stories. It’s exactly what Tony would have wanted, and it’s that fact alone that keeps Steve from hating the entire thing.

He denies giving a speech- after all, he’d been the cause. He can imagine more than a few people probably don’t want him up on this stage. He doesn’t know how many people know how Tony died, but word travels fast, especially around SHIELD.

They don’t have a body to bury, so they bury one of his suits instead. It’s the oldest one he has, kept in a locked compartment at the very base of his laboratory. Pepper places the old, tattered arc reactor in its chest and they bury it on a sunny, beautiful day in New York City.

Steve almost wishes he’d brought the gauntlet, as he sits in the back row and watches and listens and waits. His hand clenches, like it’s used to the weight of the glove around it, like it’s reaching for the space stone by pure instinct alone- but he doesn’t use the stones. He’d never used the stones. He asks them for favors, and this isn’t a favor worth their time, he knows.

So he makes his way home on his own, where the gauntlet sits, waiting for him.

He looks at the Space stone, wonders how anyone had ever used it for evil. It’s the shallowest out of all of them, the most primal. It doesn’t take morals into account, or human nature, or thought or time or strength. It just displaces, that’s all.

“So why can’t you bring him back?” he murmurs, staring at it.

It’s not even a request, it’s as if the stone knows the thought swirling in his mind, clawing at his heart, and it agrees. And then he’s back at the grave with barely a sound, crouching in the moonlit leaves. New York City might be sunny, but Wakanda is bathed in night right now and Steve’s never been more grateful for the cover of darkness.

“Why can’t you?” he asks the stones. They gleam with a light of their own, illuminating his face and the rocks surrounding Bucky’s grave. “Is it just impossible? Is it so impossible for him to be safe, for him to be okay? So I can’t have him at all?”

The stones are silent.

Steve hasn’t asked them for anything else- he’s already asked too much as it is. Bringing everyone back had been a favor, not a requirement, and he can’t push them any more. He knows he’s not worthy of asking for anything else- hell, he hadn’t been worthy of asking for what he’d asked for.

But now-

Now, he closes his eyes.

“A soul for a soul,” he whispers. “A soul for a soul. His life for mine- it was a fifty-fifty chance before, what difference does it make if it’s me, instead?” He waits, but gets no answer. “It’s not a favor, it’s a trade. It’s just a trade.”

Steve has nothing left for him here, not like this, not all alone. The others are making lives for themselves, and there’s no reason for them to hang around Steve anymore. They’re drifting away- and Steve can’t blame them. He’s not mad, he’s happy for them, really.

So this has to be it. He couldn’t save Bucky, but maybe he can give him another chance. Because the line has to end somewhere, and the least he can do is tie it to the beginning of Bucky’s.

\---

 _I cannot take this,_ the Time gem moans, _please, make it stop, I can’t listen to this for another second-_

 _I hate to side with Time,_ say the Mind stone, _but I agree. It’s painful._

“I get it,” Bucky says, “I get it, he’s mourning me- but he’s mourned me before.”

 _You don’t get it,_ the Time stone snaps.

“So make me get it,” Bucky shoots right back.

 _Soul,_ the Time stone says. _Do something._

The Soul stone assesses the situation. And then Bucky’s mind is gone and he’s mourning, his chest hurts and his limbs hurt, they’re so tired and so exhausted, he’s lost everything, and his chest hurts so much- and he thinks of ash in his hands crumbling away in the wind and his chest hurts and oh god, oh god it hurts it hurts it hurts-

 _“Stop,”_ Bucky shouts.

 _Now do you understand?_ the Soul stone asks gently. _He’s in pain. He hurts._

 _Show him again,_ the Time stone says. _Or I could-_

 _Time,_ the Soul stone warns. _We’re not to interfere. We’re here to fulfill the deal-_

_Oh, so it’s fine when you do it, but not me?_

_That’s different,_ the Soul stone says impatiently, _because-_

 _Sorry, Soul,_ the Mind stone says, and then Bucky hears it- an actual voice. Not the thought of a voice, not the suggestion of a word or a feeling, but a real, true voice. Steve’s voice.

 _“Please,”_ Steve says, and he sounds so tired and broken that Bucky’s heart breaks right then and there. _“His for mine, please. I’ve asked too much already, I know, but- just a trade. Just a trade, a simple trade. A soul for a soul, let him come back. Let him come back, I’ll go, take me, please.”_

If he had blood, it would be ice cold. As it is, he doesn’t, but the feeling of stiff limbs and a stuttering heart and empty lungs rushes out of Bucky like a wave, hits each of the gems in turn.

 _Oh,_ says the Power stone, _Fuck it._

And Bucky feels a gut-punch, and all the strength in his arms is gone, all the power in his heart is slashed, he’s useless, he’s a shell, he’s less than a shell he’s a battered casing, holes torn through, not even worth his weight oh god he used to be strong, a shield himself, he used to carry a team and a legacy and a shield and now he can barely carry himself, he’s sitting here because he lacks the strength to stand, he lacks the strength to fight, even to live-

“Stop,” Bucky gasps, pulling out of the Power stone’s vision, “stop it-”

 _Oh, hell yes,_ the Time stone says, _let me try-_

And he’s twenty six but he’s really ninety and it’s been months since Bucky went into cryo and he’s alone, he’s so alone and he has friends but they don’t understand, not all the way, and they stay by him at first but as time goes on they fade, and then Bucky’s back and gone again in a flash, it had felt like seconds, and it’s been months now and Bucky’s still gone and he’s alone, he counts every day as it passes and every day feels like a week and every week feels like a year-

"Please,” Bucky grunts.

 _Wait,_ says the Space stone. _How did you do that?_

And he’s alone, he’s solid and present but he’s alone, with infinity before him and around him, he is solitary and the world is infinite and he is so small, he is alone in this space and he doesn’t know where to go, he can’t ask anyone, he’s surrounded by people who take up more space than he does but none of them even see him, not really, and he folds his arms and tries to be as small as he can-

 _Reality,_ the Time stone says, _you wanna jump in here?_

 _Stop it,_ says the Soul stone, _you’re not supposed to tamper with-_

 _Sure,_ says the Reality stone.

And he’s dying, alone and small and weak and out of time at long, long last, he’s made one too many bad decisions and he’s caught unawares and this is it, he’s gone, one mistake and that’s all it takes to take him down, and there’s blood and spit on his face and he realizes he doesn’t care, he’s withering away anyway, it might as well end like this, he might as well, and he’s gone and he’s lifted up and into a casket and people are crying, and then he’s being buried in the city and even now he’s so far away, even now they’re forced apart-

“Just _make me someone he can love,”_ Bucky screams, to one of them, to all of them.

 _That’s not the agreement,_ the Reality gem yells back.

“Then just _let me out,”_ Bucky howls.

 _Finally,_ the Time gem groans, _he gets it._

And the Soul stone breathes, and-

\---

 _“…Steve?”_ echoes through the woods.

Steve gives a hysterical little laugh. Is he losing it even more? He already imagines the gems talking sometimes, is he cracking up? Is he-

Is he going? Is he fading? Please, please let him be fading. Let this mean Bucky’s on his way back, he begs.

\---

The Soul gem gives the Space gem a reproving glance, and the Space gem says _What? It’s more fun this way._

The Time gem snorts, and says _For once, I’m with Space on this one._

Bucky’s a quarter mile away from where he’d left, stumbling through the jungle and looking desperately around, trying to follow the distant sounds of brush moving.

 _That’s not funny,_ the Mind gem says, _they’ve been through enough._

 _Actually,_ the Reality gem says, _it’s a little funny._

And they can’t exactly argue with Reality.

\---

Steve drops the gauntlet, laughing to himself. He hears it, the _Steve?_ Echoing and echoing, getting closer- and he digs his fingers into the earth, curling them around the stones that make up Bucky’s grave, laughing and then sobbing through it, hysterical, and oh god, please, please let him be ash-

Is this is all there is? Is this it? This is what’s left for him, the echoing voice of a ghost of Bucky, that’s all he has to keep him company? If this is the punishment the gems are giving him for asking too much of them-

Let this be hell, he thinks, let this be hell, let him be gone and let Bucky be back, let Bucky be _home-_

\---

 _Wow,_ the Time gem mutters. _Thanos told us to destroy half the universe and you think you’re asking too much?_

 _I’d say I admired his martyr complex,_ says the Power gem, _but to be honest it’s just annoying._

 _Oh, look,_ the Mind gem says, _look, he found him._

 _Bet you he doesn’t believe it,_ the Time gem says wryly.

 _Bet on what?_ the Reality gem asks. _What can you possibly offer that we don’t already have?_

\---

“Steve?” he hears again, and again- “Steve?” And it’s a cruel echo of that last moment, the last thing Bucky ever said to him, his goddamn name-

The brush shifts around him, leaves crunching, and-

“… Steve?”

It’s right behind him, isn’t it. There’s a ghost, there’s a hallucination, it’s- it’s something. Is it something? Or is it nothing? Is it just his goddamn imagination and his fucking cursed mind, his punishment for being arrogant enough to think that the universe owed him more than it owes anyone else?

\---

 _HA,_ the Time gem crows, _I told you._

 _That is enough,_ the Soul stone thunders, _QUIET._ And then there’s silence, almost a crater of respect where the Soul stone had willed it. They’re all torn between watching the Soul stone and watching the mortals. The Soul stone clears its throat. _I want to watch._

\---

“Please,” Steve’s whispering desperately, his eyes shut so tight, so tight.

“Steve,” Bucky says breathlessly, and then he’s running, leaves kicking up behind him, until he’s right there, crouched in front of Steve. He grabs his shoulders and- Steve’s solid. Steve’s solid and not coming apart, and a rush of relief makes him wobble. Steve’s not going anywhere, somehow he knows that. Steve had wanted a deal, Steve had offered- Bucky had been half convinced the stones were going to take him up on that-

And from a distant place he feels rather than hears the Time gem give an indignant noise, as if the mere idea that they’d take Steve up on his offer is offensive.

“No,” Steve groans, tensing. “No. Leave me alone.”

“Steve,” Bucky says softly, and the fingers around Steve’s right ear curl, and the metal plates shift, sliding against one another, and Steve goes still.

God, Bucky thinks, he looks like an absolute wreck.

 _Told you so,_ the Reality gem mutters.

Steve’s hair is unkempt, his beard is disgusting, he’s clearly malnourished and exhausted. Bucky recognizes a few of his clothes on Steve’s body, a shirt, his shoes, the smell of the farm, goat hair laying over his chest like a blanket. He must have taken over the farm home, either for the solitude or the memories of Bucky- or perhaps both. But Steve himself is wasting away. Bucky remembers when Steve had been ninety pounds and living off of wishes and hopes- and if that hadn’t worked then, it sure as hell isn’t going to work now.

Steve opens his eyes.

For a long, long moment, they just stare at one another. Bucky takes in the way Steve’s eyes sink back into his skull, the way his eyebrows are furrowed now, constantly tense. The way his hair is greased and long and clearly not cared for, the way his clothes hang off his body.

\---

The Power gem glances around to the others, but none of them are watching, and it nudges-

\---

Bucky surges forward and clutches Steve in a hug, the force behind which is tremendous. He grabs Steve’s disgusting hair, feels the weight of Steve’s head on his shoulders, the bones behind his skin, the breath against his back, god, he’s never going to let go again, never-

\---

 _That’s cheating,_ the Reality gem chides.

 _Oh,_ the Soul gem says, relenting, _we all deserve a cheat day once in a while._

 _Can I cheat?_ the Time gem asks, and the other stones only need a moment’s pause before they have their answer.

\---

“I’m sorry,” Bucky murmurs, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Their bodies are the only things keeping them upright; without one another they’d be falling to the ground by now, even sitting down like this. And Bucky can’t help it, god, he can’t, he just loves Steve too damn much. He pushes the hair away from Steve’s eyes and kisses his temples, shushes him-

“C’mon,” he murmurs, “Breathe with me, that’s it, in and out, c’mon, breathe.”

Steve’s hands clutch at Bucky’s shirt so tight that Bucky would be worried he might tear it, if he could actually think. Steve’s breaths come fast and shallow, he’s probably lightheaded by now, but Bucky’s hand is steady and before long Steve’s breaths start to match Bucky’s, and his eyes clear and begin to focus again, and the tension slides out of him and he falls forward onto Bucky’s chest.

“Buck,” he says, finding his voice at last.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “S’ me.” And he knows the gems haven’t done a damn thing to him. And he knows what that must mean- that Steve loves him like this, surely? “I’m sorry,” he says again, “I’m sorry you had to wait so long-”

“Stop,” Steve says. “You’re here. You’re here.”

And that’s all that really matters, that Bucky’s here, and so is Steve, and they’re together and neither of them are turning to ash anytime soon. And then their eyes meet and the silence falls again and neither of them have the words to break it-

\---

 _Fine,_ the Mind gem mutters, _I’ll do it myself._

 _Fuck, don’t say it like that,_ says the Power Gem.

\---

Bucky’s mouth opens and he says, “I love you,” the moment the words enter his mind. His hands on Steve’s shoulders tighten, but Steve doesn’t seem to notice.

“Bucky,” Steve says, and Bucky kisses him.

The Wakandan night is warm and inviting, and the brush below is soft and smooth. The leaves are thick and succulent, bending under their weight as Bucky pushes Steve down onto the jungle floor. The dirt, fertile and soft, cushions Steve’s head as it hits the ground, as Bucky presses his mouth to Steve’s and forces him down.

They’re both disgusting; Steve’s hair is greasy enough to light on fire, and Bucky can almost feel ash between his fingers and it makes him shiver. He’s still sweaty from the fight he’d left, the scent of gunpowder clinging to his body, but it doesn’t seem like Steve cares all that much- if the way he melts into the dirt under Bucky is any indication.

Steve’s hands practically claw at Bucky’s back through the tac gear, like he’s trying to rip through it to get to Bucky’s skin, and Bucky can’t blame him; his metal hand digs into the earth next to Steve’s head, and his flesh one slides beneath Steve’s shirt, groping and touching everywhere he can reach.

Steve’s too thin, Bucky notes absently. He can feel ribs when his hand skates down Steve’s side- not as prominent as they’d used to be, but more than they should be with how much muscle Steve is supposed to be carrying nowadays.

But there’s time to worry about that later, because right now Steve’s panting beneath him, legs dropping open to let Bucky settle even closer, and Bucky’s abruptly reminded that he has a body again.

He’s more than just a vague consciousness floating - _somewhere_ \- he’s real. He’s solid. He has hands and a brain and he can hear- not just the vague nebulous concept of thoughts, he can hear Steve gasping, his breath hitching, the little sobs he lets out when his hand slides into Bucky’s thick hair and tugs -and Bucky obliges, drops closer and kisses him hard and deep, makes sure he doesn’t have to try too hard.

He remembers the exhaustion the Power stone had showed him, remembers the eternity the Time stone had shoved into his brain- and he knows he’s kept Steve waiting long enough. Steve deserves to have what he wants, and what he wants is clearly Bucky.

And after all, Bucky has his body back, and that body has only ever known how to do one thing- love Steve Rogers.

There’s dirt and tears and sweat from both of them, dripping and smearing and mixing on their dirty cheeks, in their mouths - Steve has to drop his head away and cough for a moment, but he returns just as quickly, as if it’s physically painful to keep his mouth off of Bucky’s for even a moment.

And it is. Steve can’t imagine taking his hands off Bucky, losing that certainty. Smooth stones press into his shoulders through his shirt, the soft earth giving way for them to bury themselves both into the ground and into Steve’s skin, and Bucky’s grave is literally right behind him, but Bucky himself is above, weight resting on Steve, solid and safe and god, _god_ \- he’s here. He’s _here._

The wait was worth it, Steve decides, and he rolls his hips up and pulls a stuttering, surprised gasp out of Bucky. The hand sliding over Steve’s torso snakes down, grabs Steve’s waist, and hefts him up, taking his weight easily as Bucky’s knees press into the earth and he guides Steve’s legs to hook around him.

This is where he’s supposed to be, Bucky realizes, and the deep settling feeling he’s missed since waking from cryo slots into place. Steve’s body is home, and Steve feels the same way; he’s never felt more secure than when Bucky’s pinning him down, touching him all over, giving him what he so desperately needs - himself.

They find a rhythm, a little clumsy, a little out of practice, but still perfect, Steve pushing up as Bucky pushes down, and he can’t help it; Steve’s head falls backwards to collide with the dirt as his mouth falls open and a loud moan pours out of him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, the first word in god knows how long, and Bucky just grunts in agreement and drops his mouth down to the line of Steve’s throat, stretched tight and exposed. Steve’s beard rubs coarsely against Bucky’s face, scratching at his cheeks, but Bucky doesn’t care- he can’t care, not when he can feel the vibration of those gorgeous sounds pouring out of Steve against his own lips.

“Bucky,” Steve mumbles quietly, shakily, and Bucky hums.

“Yeah,” he says, not a reply but an acknowledgement, and the hand on Steve’s too-narrow waist squeezes gently. “Yeah. I gotcha, Stevie.” He bites at Steve’s throat as if to punctuate his point, sucking gently and raising a bruise. Steve’s still pale- the serum might repair his skin but it’ll never kill that Irish glow- and he marks up so damn pretty. It won’t last nearly long enough, but that’s okay. Bucky has time now, time and patience, and he knows how to use them wisely. So by the time they’re done, Steve’s gonna have a veritable collar of love bites and bruises. He grinds down harder, needing something to stabilize himself, a feeling on which to cling-

And Steve cries out hoarsely, shuddering, digging his nails into the back of Bucky’s neck and holding on for dear life. His hips jerk, worn down denim stretched and a little baggy around the waist, but they still leave nothing to the imagination when Bucky’s this close. And god, he never wants Bucky to be any further away than this, never again, part of him is sure he’ll die if they separate- but Bucky’s words settle at the forefront of his mind, and his shoulders relax and his breath rushes out. Bucky has him. Bucky’s here, Bucky has him.

There are so many words right on the tips of their tongues trying to spill out, but they don’t pull away from one another long enough to speak. Talking can come later, when one of them can bear to stop moving like this, but for now this is enough. This is more than enough, the reckless movement of Bucky’s hips against Steve’s and the careless slide of their mouths together.

Neither of them have long. Steve’s been a raw and sensitive wreck since the moment his eyes had found Bucky, and Bucky’s been thinking of this moment every day for as long as he can remember. Still, they do their best to hold back, until Bucky’s biting at Steve’s mouth and they’ve got equal patches of beard burn on their faces and Steve’s brows knit tight together, eyes stuck closed as he breathes heavy and quick.

“Bucky,” Steve says again, and Bucky moans.

“Steve,” he mumbles back, and that seems to be all it takes. Steve gives a choked off sob and goes so still beneath Bucky, clutching at him as he comes, his mouth dropping open to let out a desperate, loud moan, and Bucky can’t hold back when he sees that euphoric look on Steve’s face- he’s gone, the warm breeze of the jungle surrounding him as he comes too, unable to hold back.

Bucky collapses over Steve, metal arm whirring faintly as he rests the bulk of his weight on it so as not to crush Steve, and they pant together, catching their breath. Steve’s face glistens in the moonlight, wet with tears, but he’s smiling.

His hand slides from Bucky’s hair to his face, thumb tracing Bucky’s cheekbone before he lifts his head up and kisses him, lazy and deep. Bucky laughs against his mouth, kissing him back and humming against Steve’s lips.

“I love you,” Steve murmurs softly, and Bucky gives a soft, approving rumble, brushing their noses together.

“I know, punk.”

“I’m tryin’ to have a moment here,” Steve grouses. “Don’t be a jerk and ruin it for me.”

“I’m not ruining anything!” Bucky laughs, and it’s almost like he’d never left at all. He raises up to his feet finally, grimacing at the mess in his pants that’s already starting to dry uncomfortably against his thighs, and offers Steve a useless hand. Steve humors him, claps his palm against Bucky’s, and lets Bucky heft him up to his feet.

Steve winces a little as he stands, but doesn’t complain. Bucky takes two automatic steps towards his little farm, but Steve squeezes his hand, pulling him to a stop.

“Hang on,” Steve mumbles, stepping to Bucky’s front. Bucky gives a knowing little smile, watching the way Steve’s eyes dart to his mouth before meeting his gaze. He doesn’t make Steve ask, doesn’t make him initiate; instead he wraps both arms around his waist and pulls him so their chests are flush against one another, pressing his mouth to Steve’s in a bracing kiss. Steve whines into it, soft and desperate, and Bucky slides a hand up to cradle the back of his head.

Bucky might have a tighter grip on time, now, but he loses track of it pretty quickly. It’s either ten seconds or ten minutes that they stand there, kissing until their lips start to slide against one another lazily instead of hungrily, and when Bucky’s teeth brush Steve’s bottom lip and Steve doesn’t so much as hitch a breath, Bucky reluctantly pulls back.

“Let’s go home,” he says softly.

Steve smiles easily and nods, lacing their fingers together. The faint buzz of the night comes back to them, soft sounds of nestling birds and the rustle of branches in the cool summer night breeze that surrounds them, and it’s steadying. Comforting.

Bucky hadn’t quite been sure what he’d meant when he’d asked to go home, but now he knows. It’s not a picket white fence and a dog and a fridge full of food in the middle of Brooklyn, like his twenty-year-old self had always dreamed. Hell, it’s not even a _place._

And here in the thick night air in the middle of the forest, he realizes that anywhere is home, anywhere at all. As long as Steve is by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> want a gym AU feat. baker Bucky? click [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8576425)  
> want a shrunkyclunks AU feat. college Bucky? click [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13040604)  
> want a road-trip AU feat. porn? click [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10688436/chapters/23669583)
> 
> [slenderlock on tumblr](http://www.slenderlock.tumblr.com)  
> [emij1s on tumblr](http://witchyturneywrites.tumblr.com)


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